


Return To All Hallows

by paintedskullfairy



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Town References, Nightmare Before Christmas References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedskullfairy/pseuds/paintedskullfairy
Summary: Two years ago, two sisters were catapulted into a world of talking skeletons, spectres, Goblin Kings and a terrifying Bogeyman. Their adventures in the Halloween town are far from over, so let us return to All Hallows, for an All Hallows Magic sequel!
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic), Dawn & Marianne (Strange Magic)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Return To All Hallows

**Author's Note:**

> I decided over the spooky season to sit down and write this story, following up on what happened two years (cannot believe it's been two years since I wrote it,) after the events of All Hallows Magic. I recommend you read that one first before starting this to avoid any confusion!

“_Didn’t I tell you that I would always haunt your dreams_?” The voice laughed, the words a dry retch, no more than a whisper.

Marianne could feel the cold tendrils snake around her legs, curling upwards, holding her arms in place. They pressed themselves against her mouth and eyes, eager to be let in. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t, scared if she opened her mouth for more than a moment, the shadows would consume her.

Then, they pulled, the force causing her muscles to scream in agony. They dragged her down, phasing through a black void, that turned purple, wisps of mauves and violets washing past her as she fell. Her body landed with a hard thud against cold stone tiles, the only light source was a few isolated candles, their flame flickering just shy of going out.

A group huddled together in the darkness, whispering amongst themselves.

“Let me see it.”

“I want to touch it.”

“Is it really him?”

Marianne squinted, trying to get a better look, but their faces were hidden by thick robes, their voices too distorted in her pounding head. What was it they were crowded around? She took a step closer, her feet numbing on the wet tiles, and in between the shadows and cloaks, Marianne could make out the smallest shard of cracked amber.

“_I did say, didn’t I?”_ The voice teased again, “_Night after night after night after…”_

The blaring sound of an alarm woke her and nearly sent her toppling out of bed. Hands flailing, Marianne grabbed her phone to shut up the irritating beep, only to find she had overslept. She had spent all night helping Dawn with her collage paper, spending hours on the phone convincing her younger sister that she had answered the question to the fullest potential, and when she finally did get some rest, it was that bloody dream again.

Even though, she thought to herself as she pulled on her own campus’ hoodie, it had been different this time, the hooded figures were new. Manoeuvring past the pile of unpacked boxes in her old bedroom, Marianne made her way downstairs, the smell of cooking greeting her when she reached the final step.

Her father swayed to the radio as he stood in front of the hob, apron pinned over his shirt and trousers.

“Mornin’!” He greeted, planting a kiss on Marianne’s cheek. “Sleep well?”

“You could say that,” Marianne said, taking a seat at the table, a cup of coffee already waiting for her. “What are you cooking and how are you not burning it?”

“It’s because I’m following one of your mother’s recipes… tada!” He spun to reveal a plate topped with pancakes, a slither of butter on top for good measure.

“You made pumpkin pancakes?!”

“I knew they were your favourite,” Her father said, taking the seat opposite her, “you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently, what with finishing college, moving back here, figuring out what you want to do.”

Marianne visibly sulked at the mention of her future, “I don’t know _what_ I want to do,” she answered truthfully, it was a question that had been weighing on her mind for a while, in more ways than her father could ever hope to understand.

“You’re twenty-one Marianne, you’re not supposed to have it all figured out yet. Hell, look at me, I don’t even know what I want to do.”

“But you’re an accountant.”

“Yes, but sometimes I think that I’d like to take up flying lessons, or at the very least learn how to knit.” He reached out across the table and squeezed Marianne’s hand, “you have your entire life to worry about jobs, houses, weddings, that sort of thing.”

Marianne squeezed his hand back and picked up a fork, devouring a pancake in one bite.

“Actually,” she said between mouthfuls, “there is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Oh god, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What? Dad no!”

“Thank god, that’s the one thing you aren’t allowed to do until you’re thirty. So, what is it then?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Is it a _boy_?” Her father asked, hanging on Marianne’s word, “or a girl, I don’t judge.”

Marianne swallowed, “he is a _boy_, and I think he’s my _boy_friend.”

“You think? Did he ask?”

“Not really, not in so many words.”

“That’s a bit rude of him.”

“He’s not rude, I just don’t think he needed to ask me out.”

“He doesn’t sound like a gentleman.”

“He is, Dawn likes him.”

“Dawn’s met him? How come I’m always left out of the loop.”

“Well, he’s a little different.”

Her father nodded slowly, “different how?”

“He’s…” Marianne bit her lip. What could she say? That he’s the Goblin King, royalty of a town filled with beasts and ghouls, he was mum’s best friend? Oh, and he’s three hundred and twenty-four. “A little eccentric?”

“Marianne, all the good people are. If you like him, and he likes you, then what’s the issue?” Proud of his fatherly advice, he took his own mouthful of pancake, “so, when am I meeting him?”

“I was thinking maybe tonight?”

“_Tonight_?”

“He’ll be in town, so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for you two to meet.”

“Now I’m really nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about.”

Her father leant back in his chair, “look at this place, it’s so messy, I mean look at all these cobwebs.”

“Those are decorations dad.”

“Good point, but the fact I’m nervous about meeting your boyfriend still stands.”

“Shouldn’t he be nervous about meeting you?”

“Yes, that is how it's supposed to go. Maybe I’ll just throw in some powerplay, grip his hand, warn him to treat you right, that will work, a casual bit of intimidation.”

Marianne didn’t mention the fact that Bog was the very definition of intimidating.

“When does he get here?”

“A little after dark,” Marianne explained, washing the plates and cups in the sink.

“Little ominous, but great for the holiday season.” Her father remarked, “don’t forget your sister is coming over as well since it’s her reading week. My two girls, under one roof again.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow at her father, “are you going to cry?”

“No,” he said with a sniff.

***

Marianne sat crossed-legged on her bed, laptop balancing on her lap. She had spent the last few hours scrolling through job offers, housing prices and even higher education options, but nothing captured her interest.

With an exasperated sigh, she closed the laptop and climbed off the bed, sinking to the floor and sticking her hand underneath, rummaging around until she found what she was looking for.

She pulled and the box came free, dragging dust bunnies with it. Prying off the lid, she was greeted with a crystal bodice, the most beautiful dress she had ever worn. The bottom was still destroyed, frayed and ripped from _that_ night, but she was glad she kept it. Underneath were other numerous treasures she had kept safe, the most prized being a bound journal, the lock popping open as she reached for it.

The first thing Marianne had done, aside from shower and sleep, when she arrived back from All Hallows, was run to the attic, finding that her mother’s books now responded to her touch. In numerous theories and magic-related discussions, Dawn hypothesised that Marianne’s magic was simply lying dormant, and, like all witches and warlocks, needed a vital moment, when her emotions reached their limit, to be able to unlock her full potential.

Magic was by no means easy.

It had been a headache trawling through her mother’s books. Spell lists, graphs and diagrams littered most pages, with essays about how to mix herbs and conjure apparitions covering several chapters. Still, most nights Marianne read them religiously, doing her best on a student budget to bring the spells to life.

The best thing she had learned from her mother, is that a witch’s magic is unique. It was why when Marianne had tried to create balls of light like Dawn, she had failed miserably. Marianne’s magic was more…destructive and had set off the campus fire alarm more than once. Even now, two years after finding out she could _actually_ do magic, Marianne still struggled. She opened the journal, continuing where she left off. Her mother, Morgan Fae, had been the most powerful witch All Hallows had ever seen, recording all her charms and incantations in journals that spent most of Marianne’s life under lock and key in the attic. More importantly, Morgan had had the ability of third sight, to see glimpses of the future, past and present. Marianne wondered if she could find answers about the peculiar robed figures in her dreams, using clues that lied within these detailed pages.

There was a small part within her that felt guilty. Bog had, after all, told her that Morgan wanted to keep them away from magic, fearing the worst for her daughters. Still, what harm could there be, now that the Bogeyman was gone?

_“He isn’t gone though, is he_?” That voice chanted in her mind,_ “not really.”_

A tap on the window nearly made her drop the book, blue eyes staring back at her in the gloom.

“Don’t do that,” she said, lifting the window and letting Bog inside, “also, why didn’t you use the door?”

The Goblin King, in all his glory, from the claws to the bark-like crown that perched on his head, stood in Marianne’s bedroom, bending slightly to not hit his head against her ceiling. “If I used the door, then I would be seen.” He declared, wiping down his pinstripe suit with the back of his hand.

“We talked about this, you’re meeting my father tonight, you can’t just climb through my window.”

“I still firmly believe this is a terrible idea. Have you told your father about magic?”

“No.”

“Have you told him that you are descended from a long line of powerful witches?”

“No.”

“Then something tells me he will not be able to comprehend the eight-foot creature of the night standing in his kitchen.”

“You haven’t heard my brilliant plan yet,” she gestured to the window, “trust me, ring the doorbell and let me do the talking.”

***

“Ah, is that him?” Marianne’s father asked as the doorbell rang, “how does my hair look?”

“You look fine dad.”

“I didn’t want to look fine, I wanted to look handsome.” He sulked as Marianne got the door.

“Hello!” She grinned up at Bog, who could barely stand on the doorstep, pumpkins galore by his feet.

“Hello,” he said slowly, his eyes trailing behind her. “It is good to see you Marianne. May I come in?”

“You’re a terrible actor.” Marianne muttered under her breath but gestured for him to come in anyway.

“Through here and remember, follow my lead.”

They made their way through the hallway, Bog cowering to avoid smacking his head against any lighting fixtures and entered the kitchen, Marianne’s dad waiting by the table. “Hello, you must be-” He stopped short, taking in Bog’s height, the claws, the fangs, the wooden skin and piercing eyes. “That is the _best _costume I have ever seen.”

“Costume?” Bog growled but felt Marianne’s elbow in his ribs. “Y-yes, costume, one I have crafted.” He reached out a hand, “I am Bog, the Goblin King.”

“You’re so in character, you must be a drama student. I can spot those from a mile off!” He threw his head back and laughed at his own joke, before shaking Bog’s hand. “Nice to meet you, I am Marianne’s father, accountant at Fae, Lucas and Co. It’s not royalty, but it’s the best I can do.”

“The rank does not matter, for every man’s home is his castle.”

“You’re so wise, how old are you again?”

Before Bog could answer, Marianne cut in. “Twenty-four, he’s twenty-four.”

“Gosh, to be young. I remember your mother, Marianne, being that age.”

“Ah yes, she was a firecracker was she not?” Bog said, before looking down and seeing Marianne’s horrified expression. “I’ve heard,” he corrected, “from Marianne.”

“Yes, Marianne’s probably sick of all my stories about Morgan. Well, you can stay for dinner if you’d like. Dawn should be arriving soon and there is plenty for everyone, though I presume you’ll both be heading to a costume party?”

Bog nodded, “there is a ball that we will be making an appearance at.”

“Oh, how fancy, where is that then? Greeners’ place?”

“Yeah, somewhere like that. Well dad, I must go and plan my costume, so behind,” Marianne laughed awkwardly, “Bog will you help me? Since you are the expert.”

“You’d have to be magic to get a better costume than his.” Her father said, admiring Bog’s suit.

“That’s quite ironic because-”

“Okay,” Marianne said, ushering Bog out of the room, “upstairs please,_ now._”

***

“All things considered,” Bog said once they were upstairs, “I think that went rather well.”

“I can’t believe you brought mum up.”

“Your father brought her up.”

“You said she was a firecracker.”

“She was, as spirited and rambunctious as they come.”

“Yes but, you’re _supposed_ to be twenty-four, you’re _supposed _to have never met my mother.”

“I feel I would have benefited greatly if you told me the plan beforehand.”

Marianne sat on the bed, “you’re right. It’s just, I wanted it to go well, but…”

“Marianne, it is your choice, but it may be easier to explain from the beginning, show him you’re magic, give him proof, before going any further.”

“Do you remembered how I acted, when I learned that magic existed?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well imagine that but a thousand times worse. That would be my dad.”

Bog’s clawed fingers intertwined with hers, Marianne’s heart beating faster in her chest. “Initially it would come as a shock, but then he would have no reason to deny it. As I said, it is your choice, but do not fret so much.” He gently swept her fringe from her eyes and bent down to kiss her.

“Have you given any more thought to my proposition?” He whispered afterwards, their foreheads touching.

Marianne sighed, “it’s complicated.”

“I thought to live in All Hallows was what you wanted?”

“It was, but…”

“Was?” Bog said, pulling away, “you’ve had a change of heart?”

“No, but what if I want to get a job? Should I save money before I move? What about mortgages and tax? I have to think about the future, houses, jobs, weddings.”

“Weddings?” Bog gulped.

“Not weddings, that, that was a slip of the tongue.”

“Have you been thinking about weddings?”

Marianne could feel the heat spreading on her cheeks, “pfft, no. I mean, why-why would I be thinking about them?”

“Your whole demeanour is suggesting that you are.”

“I just have a lot on my mind, weddings not being one of them,” she fell back onto the bed, “it must have been easy for you, you never had to worry about those things.”

“I had other concerns, such as war and devastation of my people.”

“Oh.”

“I worried about other things too. Dates for the balls, what was expected of me. You’ll find your way.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I just thought, that maybe you would be?”

“Marianne, I have fought the terrors of the earth, it takes a lot to get me mad.”

Marianne sat up on her elbows, “you literally threatened to feed Thang to the werewolves because he dyed one of your shirts red.”

Bog grimaced, “but notice how I only threatened, I didn’t carry the threat out, so my point still stands.”

Marianne rolled her eyes but reached up and cupped his face in her hands, the texture of his skin coarse against her touch. “I like you,” she whispered.

“And I, you.”

Their lips were about to touch when a wolf whistle jerked them apart, “am I interrupting something?” Dawn asked with a raised eyebrow, a smile spreading across her face.

“Dawn, have you heard of knocking?”

“What is that,” Dawn teased, “sounds familiar…?”

“Dawn,” Bog greeted, bowing his head.

“Hey, your highness,” she gave him a hug before winking at her sister, “dad wants to know If you’re staying for dinner, it’s spag bowl.”

“I don’t think we have time, we have to leave soon, are you sure you don’t want to come, even if just for a few hours?”

Dawn shook her head, “I have this deadline, you know what college is like. There’s always next year, right?”

“I’ll tell everyone you said hello?”

“Yeah… alright, I’ll let dad know you’re leaving soon, don’t forget to say bye!” with a flurry, Dawn flew down the stairs, her footsteps fading as she went.

Bog frowned, “was Dawn well? She seemed…distracted?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, just stress.” Marianne said, rummaging through the boxes that held her clothes.

“Has she mentioned anything to you about Sunny?”

“Nope,” Marianne replied, pulling free a pair of old boots and a jumper before throwing them to the side as she dug deeper, “why, has he said anything?”

“No.”

“Then, I don’t really see the issue – ah-ha!” Marianne gasped, holding up a large lace blanket, it had a few holes, courtesy of some hungry moths, but it would suffice for what she needed it for, “turn around please.”

Bog obliged and Marianne held up the fabric, whispering words in the folds.

_Your skin is torn, you look a mess,  
Be good as new, a fancy dress._

Transformation spells tended to go haywire, but when Marianne opened her eyes, she was happy to see that the blanket had folded and sewn itself to form a bodice and long trailing skirt. The lace had wrapped and pulled, stretching out with each thread possible, to create batwings that linked to the cuff. On command, the fabric dried itself to Marianne’s preference, an inky black shade that glistened like polished onyx.

She slid in on and give it a twirl, being a witch sure came in handy.

“Can I turn around now? I feel like a child in this corner.”

“Of course,” Marianne said with a laugh, pulling on sensible shoes, “now, don’t we have a ball to attend?”

***

With head in her hand, Dawn pushed her spaghetti with her fork, swirling the pasta around in the sauce.

“You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“I’m just not hungry, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Just college stuff,” Dawn dismissed, “dad, would it be alright if I go lay down for a bit? I’ll probably eat later.”

The worry lines in her father’s forehead deepened, but he said no more on the matter, sending her off upstairs while he cleaned up. Dawn’s old bedroom was bareboned, having most of her belongings in her dorm room or in boxes. The walls were uncharacteristically empty and laying down, Dawn couldn’t relax.

Lying always did this to her.

She cursed her conscience and rolled over, hugging a pillow to her chest. To be in All Hallows, tonight of all nights, would have been one heck of a party, but he’d be there, and she’d only feel guilty. Dawn wished that she did have a deadline to work towards, something to keep her mind off this gnawing feeling would have been great. How had everything changed so much, in the space of a few years? It felt like only yesterday that she-

Something crashed downstairs, a plate smashing against the floor. Dawn sat up, waiting for her dad to do his usual yell up the stairs for help.

Nothing.

“Dad?” Dawn called out, getting to her feet, “dad you alright?”

When no reply came, Dawn took the stairs two at a time, “I heard a noise is everything alrig-”

Several plates were smashed, food smeared on the ground, the thin, wet outline of several boot prints were barely visible amongst the mess.

Dawn called out again, the panic rising in her voice. With shaking hands, she bent down and picked up a china plate shard, turning it over in her trembling fingers. Underneath the shard lay a ripped piece of dirty cloth, now stained with sauce.

With bated breath, Dawn raised it to her nose, just like she had read about in her mother’s journal, a tracking technique the ancient witches had used to hide and hunt in the haunted woods.

The cloth stunk of magic, it was undeniable, each woven strand bursting with the hot smell of potions bubbling. Worse still, it smelt nothing like her father.

Dawn held her head up and tried to keep the sickness in her chest at bay, but she could feel her palms sweating and knees beginning to wobble. She wanted to curl up and cry but knew that couldn’t be done.

With unsteady feet, Dawn stood, the torn cloth clenched in her grasp. She knew of an enchantment, one that should lead to the cloth’s owner, but if whoever it was had taken her father, they wouldn’t take too kindly to her showing up.

She had to prepare and needed to hurry.

It wasn’t long until she was sitting on her bedroom floor, encased in a circle of chalk. In a smaller circle, lay the cloth. Dawn’s hand, wet from a bath of mint-infused water, hovered over its ruined surface.

_With this object, no owner known,   
Take me back to its rightful home._

Dawn opened one eye, hoping for a change of scenery, but she was left facing the same empty wall as before.

“Maybe I did it wron-” Dawn nearly finished, before being swallowed by a bright light.

***

Marianne didn’t think she’d ever get used to spell-cast travelling, but thankfully, she landed rather gracefully with Bog’s arm tight around her waist. It was a vast improvement on her first entrance in All Hallows, which ended with a painful thud.

From the inside of his suit jacket, Bog produced a rustic pocket watch, gothic in design. “Good news, we are right on time.”

Large doors with twisting motifs of gargoyles and pumpkins stood in front of them, and behind those were the residents of All Hallows, patiently awaiting the arrival of their King.

Marianne could feel her palms sweat, magic pricking at her fingertips as she nervously jittered on her feet.

Bog took her hand in his, “you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The doors opened, revealing the grand interior. Chandeliers, draped in spiderweb silk shone a deathly glow over the grand, sweeping staircase that lead down to the ballroom, where creatures, ghouls and spectres lingered, ready to begin the festivities.

Two skeletons, Thang and Stuff gave small waves, their bony fingers shaking with excitement. Marianne waved back as the skeletons straightened up to announce the arrival of their King.

“Introducing: Our Goblin King and Marianne Fae.”

The crowd erupted with cheers and claps as they descended the staircase and Marianne, having attended the ceremony twice before, was able to recognise most of the townsfolk. Vampires with fanged smiles gleamed as she greeted them, as did the swamp creatures and the werecats.

“Marianne!” Cried a voice as someone barrelled into her, the force almost knocking her over. Looking down, a mass of thick, red hair with two shaven horns smiled back at her, with a wide, toothy grin.

“Griselda, it’s good to see you.”

“Don’t go forgetting about me!” An ethereal voice sang as a cold hand tapped her on the shoulder.

“Could anyone forget about you Plum?”

The spectre threw her head back and laughed, “it would be a challenge certainly,” she looked around, “is Dawn not making an appearance tonight?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Too much ‘adulting’ again?” Plum said with a sulk, her pouted lips transparent, “it feels like forever since we’ve seen her, poor Sunny is hopelessly lost.”

“Hey! Don’t go saying that, it’s embarrassing.” The troll said, making his way through the crowd that greeted them, “hiya Marianne.”

“How have you _been_?” Griselda said, dismissing her friends with a flick of her wrist, “you’ll have to tell us all about it! A certain _someone _only tells us the boring details.”

“I do not mother, I answer the questions you ask me.” Bog groaned with a straight face, turning away from the many monsters that begged for his attention.

“But you don’t have to be so boring about it.”

Bog frowned, “I am not _boring_, I am efficient.”

“Whatever you want to call it dear,” Griselda said, throwing a smirk at Marianne.

“Your highness!” A feminine voice cut through the crowd as a tall woman in a slender, dark blue gown approached. Her teal hair fell around her waist and framed her oval face perfectly, her eyelashes like spider legs, long and black. There were no noticeable traits, much like the fangs, horns and claws the other residents had, that would suggest that she was from All Hallows.

“Lorelai! Marianne, I would like you to meet my friend Lorelai Ragnarök, she, like you, is a witch.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fae,” Lorelai greeted, extending her hand, a tendril-like tattoo curling around her delicate wrist, “I have heard a great many things, happy to put a face to the name.”

Marianne slipped her hand in hers, “good things I hope, but nice to meet you too. How do you and Bog know each other?”

Lorelai looked at Bog, and Bog looked to her and they laughed, “We work together,” Bog explained, “Lorelai here is an expert in her field of rituals and hexes and her contribution to All Hallows has been outstanding.”

A strange feeling whirred in the pit of Marianne’s stomach, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Bog’s overemphasizing my talents, but we have built safeguards, should there ever be any threat. There needed to be a witch by Bog’s side, and I filled that position.”

Marianne’s mouth felt dry, “oh, I see, well it’s a good thing I destroyed the ultimate evil.” She let out a weak laugh, but Bog looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s true,” Lorelai smiled, “but, it is just to be on the safe side. We thought everything was over after the war, so better be safe than sorry.” The giant antique clock that hung behind them rung out, alerting them that midnight drew near, and thus the dancing must commence. With a bow, Lorelai departed back into the crowd, and Marianne felt Bog’s hand take hers as the music started up.

Dancing with Bog always felt magical, but after the first number came to an end, Marianne found herself longing for air. “I’m going to stand on the balcony for a bit.”

“Is everything alright Marianne?” He asked, hand still clasping hers.

“Yeah, just, you know…” she fanned herself, “hot.”

The wide balcony overlooked the horizon, the dark skies tinged with red mist, it was as eerie as it was beautiful. Two years ago, she had stood in the same spot with the Bogeyman, the thought of it still gave her chills. The wind blew gently through her hair as she leant on the balustrade, sighing as she released a breath, she didn’t know she was holding.

“What’s wrong with you Marianne?” She whispered out into the night. It was what Lorelai had said that had thrown her, that Bog had needed a witch by his side, and she had fulfilled that position. She knew that it wasn’t meant with any malice, merely a business agreement. Yet, it felt like another kick in the teeth, that Marianne had not been in All Hallows, doing her best to protect the town she had adored since she was a child, and another witch had taken her place.

Not that Bog was replacing her, right?

Marianne bit her lip, their relationship hadn’t been on the most steadiest of ground recently, none of it was Bog’s fault, he had been understanding and supportive all through college and visiting when he could, though she had got in trouble on multiple occasions for lighting pumpkins within the dorm room. But, the offer to stay in All Hallows had thrown her, even though she knew it had been coming all along. When she had first arrived, when she found out that she could finally do magic, staying in All Hallows was like a dream come true, but that was two years ago, she wasn’t nineteen anymore, things had changed.

All Hallows had everything Marianne could have wanted, it was filled with wonder and awe, a place where she could practice her craft and it was where Bog was. On the other hand, it didn’t have her father, or Dawn. That and All Hallows had once been home to the most legendary of terrors.

_“I’m flattered.”_ The voice mocked and Marianne shook her head to sound it out.

She stared upwards at the stars, their glow reaching out across the cosmos. Doubt had crept in while she hadn’t been paying attention, on numerous occasions, she couldn’t understand as to what Bog saw in her, her magic was unpredictable and erratic, nowhere near the skill level of her mother. She wasn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with, she had pretty much shouted at everyone in All Hallows when she had first landed here, though in her defence, she had believed that Dawn had been kidnapped.

Marianne knew a choice about her future needed to be made, it was terrifying, the pros and cons constantly fighting it out amongst themselves but whatever the decision, it needed to be her choice, and hers alone.

“I have come to check up on you,” Bog said as he approached, joining her as they gazed out onto the horizon. “I was worried you were unwell. You have not eaten, perhaps we should have stayed for some sag ball.”

“Spag bowl,” Marianne corrected, leaning into him, “and no, I’m fine, really.”

“I’m glad, will you come back inside for the countdown celebrations? You do not need to dance anymore if that is what you wish.”

“I’m sure I can rustle up the energy for another dance or two.”

The minute hand was inches away from striking twelve as they entered, manoeuvring to the front of the crowd that had formed a semi-circle around the clock.

“Five!” The crowd cheered, their ecstasy buzzing through them, “four, three...”

Marianne felt Bog’s hand in hers and promised to herself that for tonight, she wouldn’t worry about anything in the entire world.

“…two, one!”

The clock struck midnight, its chime belting out and the room erupted with roars, which turned to fearful cries as light exploded with a deafening crack beneath the clock. Marianne only saw a flash before Bog covered her, shielding her eyes.

Dazed and bewildered, Marianne blinked, her vision coming back to her. The room was in equal confusion as they rubbed their eyes, gasping with what they saw.

Dawn stood where the light had been, dressed in her jeans and jacket, a stuffed backpack hanging on one shoulder. She didn’t look dressed for the celebration, and her expression only furthered Marianne’s concern.

Dawn spotted her sister and made for her, grabbing at her with panicked hands, her voice cracking and words tumbling out of her mouth with little sense.

“Dawn, _Dawn,_ calm down, what’s wrong?”

“Dad,” she managed to say, her eyes glassing over, “dad’s been kidnapped.”

***

Dawn paced the small space between the windowsill where Griselda and Sunny were perched, to the bubbling cauldron where Plum floated.

Marianne sat on the edge of a chair, biting her nails as she listened to Dawn’s explanation of events.

Bog leaned against the wall, his head bowed to avoid the hanging vines and tied herbs. “Do you still have the cloth?” he asked, “perhaps there is another enchantment we can do on it?”

Dawn nodded her head, producing the cloth from her back pocket.

“Transporting spells tend to be unpredictable,” Plum sighed, “even if we can enchant it, it may not respond so well to having multiple spells worked into it.”

“The first spell wasn’t so successful either, I asked it to take me to its owner, yet, I ended up at the ball.”

Marianne lifted her chin, “the cloth belonged to whoever took dad, right? So, they must be in All Hallows?”

Dawn collapsed to the floor, bringing her knees to her chest. “I hoped it would be a little more specific than that.”

“But why dad? He’s an accountant for god’s sake and we definitely know he’s not magic.”

“I’m afraid,” Griselda said from the sill, “we may have to look at alternative motives, that whoever did it, maybe using him as a means to an end.”

Dawn whipped her head up, “I don’t understand?”

“She means,” Bog said coming away from the wall, standing to his full height between the rafters, “that they may be using him to get to you, _either _of you.”

“Why us?” Marianne said, colour draining from her face, her worst fears coming to light. “Could it be? No way, he’s gone.” Knocking came from the door, so sudden it made Marianne jump. Bog opened it to find two small skeletons accompanied by a witch.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Lorelai greeted, as Thang and Stuff found somewhere to sit amongst Plum’s possessions, “you must be Dawn, I had hoped to meet you on different terms.”

“Lorelai is a specialist in hexes,” Bog explained, “I had hoped she’d be able to help. Plum knows magic, but she’s limited to potions, it’s best to use whatever means we can to locate your father.”

Dawn nodded her head, but Marianne kept still.

When the situation was fully explained to Lorelai, she took a moment to compose her thoughts, her painted black lips pressed into a hard line as she concentrated. “Not everyone in All Hallows is magic, per se, everyone is unique with their abilities. The one spell that all citizens, no matter their capability, is the one that allows transportation between our world and yours.”

“So, what you’re saying is,” Marianne said rising from the chair, “is that_ anyone_ could have taken our father? That they’re impossible to track down?”

“Difficult, extremely challenging, but not impossible.” Lorelai turned to Dawn, “you said you found the cloth in the mess, but also the footprints, which shows that it was possibly more than one individual, which means we could be looking at a small collective.”

“Great,” Marianne remarked under her breath, sinking back down into the chair.

“It is the _why _that is the problem,” Bog said, his face twisted in thought, “if whoever did it wanted to get at Marianne or Dawn, why not simply get them?”

The thought of someone taking her while she slept in her bed made Marianne nauseous.

“A myriad of reasons, it could be that the reasoning is not even malicious at all. Dawn, does your father know you are magic?”

Dawn shook her head, “I don’t think he even suspects it.”

“This is a theory,” Lorelai began, “but picture this. You and Marianne slay a horrifying evil and in turn, become the saviours of All Hallows, to put it bluntly, you’re famous. The daughters of a celebrity witch who had done the same as you, whose tale is legendary. There are infant ghouls and apprentice warlocks who want to be just like you. What if, one night, they felt ballsy enough to peek, they know the legend, it is the house with the pumpkin lights after all. But what do they find? A man washing up. If your father knew nothing of this world, how would he react? How would the infants, who had wished to see their idols, instead come face to face with a screaming man. Panic ensues, and amid the chaos, the mess is made, clothes are torn, and plates are smashed. They teleport back home, but accidentally, as their magic is not the greatest, take your father with them.”

Marianne fought the urge to laugh, “you think that a bunch of kids kidnapped my dad?”

“She did say it was a theory,” Dawn said, “it’s certainly possible… I guess. How do we find them, if it was them? Theoretically.”

“A town meeting?” Lorelai suggested, looking to Bog, “strike the fear in them, so to speak, see if anyone knows of anything, or have spotted a man wandering about? The back alleyways of All Hallows can be confusing for those who don’t know our ways.”

Marianne gritted her teeth, she had been lost down those alleyways once before, the thought of her father doing the same only made her more anxious, to throw open the door and go looking for him.

“First thing tomorrow the meeting will be held,” Bog announced, “in the meantime, we need to find something to give us a lead and that cloth is our only clue. Lorelai, can you search the archives and see if there are any spells that may help?”

Marianne pressed her nails into her arm, “what can I do?”

Bog offered her a sympathetic smile, “just wait here, ok, we’ll find him.”

For the first time in two years, Marianne felt completely useless.

***

Plum had offered her abode to the Fae sisters, though lying there draped in patchwork blankets, neither could sleep.

“She seems nice,” Dawn whispered in the dark, loud enough for only Marianne to hear.

“Who?”

“Lorelai, I knew there were witches in All Hallows but I don’t think I have properly met another one.”

“Me neither.”

“Do you think that it really was just some kids who took dad?”

Marianne waited a moment before answering, “no.”

“Me neither.”

“I don’t like laying here and doing nothing,” Marianne said, rolling over and facing her sister, “I could be useful, it’s not like I’m going to get lost out there.”

“For now, I guess we can leave it up to Lorelai and Bog.”

Marianne scoffed.

“What?” Dawn asked, narrowing her eyes, “do you have a problem with her?”

“With Lorelai? No.”

“I think you do.”

“Why would I?”

“Because she’s with Bog.”

“That’s-”

“And they’re friends.”

“Why would-”

“You’re jealous.”

“Dawn, that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You meet this other witch who gets to spend more time with Bog then you do, and you don’t know how to tell him you’re frustrated because you know its stupid and he’ll just tell you it’s stupid.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“You can’t hate me for being right, but seriously Marianne, I don’t think its anything to worry about.”

“I know, doesn’t help that I’m worried about dad.”

“We’ll find him, we’ll work some magic on the cloth and go from there, but we really should get some sleep. We’re no use to anyone if we can barely keep our eyes open.”

The adrenaline and anxiety had worn Marianne out, her eyes feeling heavy as she gave in to sleep. The familiar feeling that she was not alone washed over her, darting awake only to find she was in that dark void, that haunting voice distant, even though she could feel it whispering, its hot breath in her ear.

Marianne knew what was coming, the wisps of shadows that pulled and dragged her under, and when they did come, she still lashed out, tearing and ripping at them, refusing to go down without a fight. Marianne was no match for them, she never was, and they smothered her with their weight, and down she went, the void slipping away until she was left in a small and dimly lit room, books stacked high on each wall. In the room’s centre sat a desk with no occupant, but clues that someone had only recently left, tainted quills, open ink pots and papers stretched out upon the work surface.

Was this in All Hallows? The room certainly felt like it with candles dripping fat droplets of wax. Everything felt off, foggy and just out of reach. Marianne turned, her body feeling as if it was swimming through treacle. On the wall, mounted high out of reach, was a long staff. The body, made from a dark wood twisted and curled, forming a small chamber at its tip, the inside of which was empty. Marianne reached out, her fingers fighting through the fog, but the room vanished, washed away by darkness that slowly became brighter, and Dawn’s face was hovering over her.

“Jeez!” Marianne startled, now wide awake, “don’t do that.”

“Well, what else was I going to do? You overslept.”

“How can I oversleep, it’s the middle of the night.”

Dawn through a bundle of clothes at her, “get dressed, we haven’t time.”

As Marianne blinked the sleep away, she realised that it wasn’t the middle of the night as warm sunlight streamed in through the glass windowpanes. She blinked, letting herself adjust before pulling on trousers and a blouse, the dress she had weaved a spell on last night had returned to its original state, a blanket that now lay at the foot of the bed.

Hurrying to wrap the capelet around her shoulders, Marianne headed outside, the infamous All Hallows fog whirling past her ankles as she ran to the town hall, careful to not to trip over the cobblestones.

The meeting had concluded, bat-winged creatures and fearsome water-dwellers gossiped amongst themselves, while vampires and gargoyles tried to guess as to what an accountant was, the vampire offering up the suggestion that perhaps, like him, he was a count also.

Dawn and Marianne entered the near-empty hall. Up ahead, Bog leaned against the podium, his forefinger and thumb rubbing the brim of his nose.

He sat upright when he saw them, painting a smile on his face, the others, who sat in the front row of benches, turned also.

“Hey, sorry we’re late!” Dawn chimed, grabbing Marianne by the shoulders and pushing her forward, “this one slept in.”

Marianne wriggled out her sisters hold, “has there been any news?”

Bog shook his head, “No one knows anything, nor have they seen anyone matching the description of your father.”

“Doesn’t help that they’re hungover on pumpkin juice,” Plum said, floating where she had perched herself.

Beside her, Griselda nodded, “but we’ll keep trying, someone is bound to know something.”

“We need to see if any progress has been made with a spell that can be done on the cloth.” Bog said as he stepped down from the stage, “I’ll head over to the library and see how Lorelai is getting on.”

“No!” Marianne spluttered, everyone turning to her with a questionable look, “I mean, no, I’ll go, I want to do _something_ to help.”

“Are you sure?” Dawn whispered; concern sprinkled in her voice.

“Of course.”

A bewildered Bog simply nodded, “I don’t see why not, let’s meet back at Plum’s later then. Dawn, can you see if there is anything in the journal you brought along that may help? Take Sunny with you, he may be of some use.”

Marianne could hear Dawn gulp, the usual perky redness in her cheeks fading. “Sure,” she managed to say, her smile hard and false, “let’s go.”

***

The library was a magnificent building, with tall, spiralling towers and intricate stained-glass windows. The inside was just as grand, with rows upon rows of sweeping bookcases, filled with every magical tome possible. The librarian sat at her desk, a chandelier swinging dangerously overhead.

“Ah, Miss Fae,” she purred, lowering the book she was reading, her yellow eyes sending a chill down Marianne’s spine, “what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m looking for Lorelai Ragnarök, I was told she’d be here?”

The librarian nodded, the snakes that made up her hair, bouncing as she did so, “if you go through to the back rooms, you’ll find her office, she should be in there.”

With thanks, Marianne made her way between the rows and shelves, the cobwebs growing thicker as the light grew dim. Finally, she came across a corridor, the doors engraved with names. With the help of the floating candles above, Marianne scanned each plaque, eventually finding Lorelai’s name. She knocked and waited, but no reply. She knocked again, but upon no answer, decided to just enter anyway, she didn’t have the luxury of waiting around indefinitely.

Her breath caught when she saw the inside of the room, the books on either side and desk in the middle, the contents sprawled out just as she had envisioned them. Marianne turned to the wall, expecting the staff to be hanging there and sure enough, it was on display, just out of reach.

Marianne was still gazing at it when Lorelai joined her by her side, “beautifully carved isn’t it?”

“Lorelai, I- I knocked, but…”

“That’s alright. You know this staff has so much importance, it’s a shame it's locked up in my office.”

“Oh?”

“Well, this used to be Bog’s staff, or rather, it was his father’s. The King’s men have always been depicted with it, but Bog refused to wield it anymore, too many painful memories.”

Marianne looked closely at the staff, feeling that she had seen it somewhere once before, but she couldn’t place where.

“The war had many casualties, Bog’s father being one of them. He was a skilled fighter, much like his son, he had so much finesse, it was clear to see why Griselda loved him so. But the Great Terror had left the old King weak, his last wish being that Bog took his place as ruler. In All Hallows, there is only one way in which you can rule, you must eliminate the previous monarch.”

When Marianne had first come to All Hallows, when the return of the Bogeyman was yet to become a reality, Bog had shown Marianne a glimpse of the past, the battle for All Hallows in which he and her mother fought in. It was now, recalling the red mist that filled Plum’s cottage, that Marianne had remembered seeing the staff, Bog’s silhouette bringing it down into his father’s chest.

“I can see why he doesn’t want much to do with it,” Marianne said, her eyes hovering to the staff’s base, though there was no evidence it was ever used in such a violent manner.

“I’m trying to convince him to take it back,” Lorelai said, leaning against the desk, her hair tousling over her shoulder, “the staff has connections to some archaic magic, it is, in layman’s terms, a soul beacon.”

“A what?”

“Ah, I thought you would have been a bit familiar with the term,” she pushed away from the desk and pointed with a sharp nail, up to the empty chamber near the tip of the staff, “see this, this is where the amber that held the Great Terror was once stored. Your mother used it to seal him away, to lock his soul so to speak.”

“But it broke didn’t it? It cracked when I punched him.”

Lorelai nodded, “yes, the staff is weaker without such a stone, but it can still be used as a beacon. I thought it may help with locating your father, but in all my research, I haven’t had much luck.”

“Nothing at all?”

“I’m afraid not, I’ll keep searching though. Don’t worry Marianne, we’ll find him.”

About to comment on how everyone seemed to be saying that, Marianne thought against it. “Okay, well, I better get back,” Marianne said, turning and heading out through the door.

“Marianne,” Lorelai called, “I just want you to know, there is nothing going on between Bog and me. He isn’t my type at all really, I like my ghouls to be a bit more… erratic.”

“Oh,” Marianne said, letting out an awkward half-laugh, “I didn’t even consider it, but thank you, for erm, letting me know.” She bowed her head and quickly left, the embarrassment rising to her cheeks.

Lorelai watched her go before sitting at her desk. With a flick of her wrist, the door to her office slammed shut and she sat alone with her research. After a moment, she stuck her long nail in the drawer of her desk, turning it until the lock clicked.

With delicacy, she scooped out an object, careful not to cut herself on its jagged edge. “Soon,” she whispered to it, before sliding it back in its drawer, where it was safely hidden once again.

***

Silence would have been considered the norm in All Hallows, the hush was often paired with the chimes of a distant clock after all, but for Dawn, it felt suffocating.

It didn’t help that Sunny kept looking at her.

She wanted to say something, but the moment when she had finally built up her courage, it felt too late. Dawn bit her lip and wedged her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket, she just had to focus on getting her dad back. Plum’s house provided no relief for the awkward atmosphere, Dawn heading straight for her bag, pulling out her mother’s journal and flicking through the aged pages while Sunny lurked in the background.

“Dawn…”

She froze, as if he had nudged her, his granite skin was always cold to the touch.

“Yeah?” She said, clutching the book so tightly in her hand that the spine threatened to break.

“Are we… I mean, it’s not good timing but…”

Dawn turned to see Sunny standing with a hand behind his back, head bowed and foot grinding into the floor, his little boots scuffing the floorboards where he stood.

“Sunny…”

“I know, I know,” He hung his head, his pointy ears on show, “it’s just, you haven’t said a word.”

“I know I haven’t,” Dawn said, deflating, “and I owe it to you to talk things out, but I can’t, not until I find my dad. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll find him,” He gestured to the journal, “anything in there that could help?”

Grateful for the diversion, Dawn returned her attention to the pages, but the spells and instructions inside offered no aid. She flicked through, but nothing that could help, no enchantment that jumped out at her. Advanced location charms were non-existent, much to Dawn’s frustration.

“Nothing,” Dawn pulled out the cloth and sunk to the floor, it still smelled of magic, but the old was now entwined with hers and she dared not attempt another spell in case the scent was gone forever, destroying their only clue.

The door to the cottage opened, an exhausted Plum floating through with a weary Griselda trailing after her. “We asked everyone,” she panted.

“Searched every cobble from Hallowed Hall to Creepy Creek,” Plum added wistfully fawning over her cauldron, the glowing blue of her ghostly elbows leaning on the iron rim, “yet nothing, not a single smidge of information.”

Griselda hopped onto a plump chair and drowning amongst the frayed cushions, “Have you had any luck dear?” She asked Marianne who slid through the door and joined her sister’s side.

“Lorelai had nothing, so the library is a dud.” She sunk to the floor, the silence and frustration filling the corners of the room until Marianne cried out in exasperation. “This so infuriating! What is the point of magic if it can’t even help us in a crisis! It doesn’t help that the only clue we do have is this piece of-”

Marianne plucked up the torn fabric, but as soon as it met her touch, it burst into flames, disintegrating into ash as it crumbled to the floor.

Dawn stared in disbelief, “well, it was the only clue we had until you _destroyed_ it!”

“I-I…” Marianne looked at her hands, “I barely touched it.”

Scooping up the pile of smoking remains, letting it slip through her fingers, Dawn was close to tears. “This is the only thing we had Marianne!”

“Hey!” Sunny said, pointing to the pile, “look there, in the ashes.”

They gathered around the pile, Dawn sweeping away the heap to reveal a sigil underneath, the lines still emanating heat, the marks bright with the dying embers. They didn’t hear the door go for a third time as the Goblin King entered, a bundle of books piled high into his arms.

“What are we all looking at?” He queried, peering over to have a look.

He dropped the books sending them crashing to the floor, pages wide open, the gust enough to clear the last remaining ashes.

“Bog,” Griselda said, her sunken eyes filled with terror, “is it… what I think it is?”

“What?” Marianne looked at the engravement on Plum’s floorboards, the sweeping curves of letters in an ancient language that she had often seen in her mother’s journals, “what does this mean?”

Bog swallowed, “It is the mark of the Cult of Kal.”

_Kal._

Marianne had only heard that name once before.

_Roland Kal._

“The Bogeyman.”

***

“he had _followers_?” Marianne said as she and Bog trekked over the upturned earth littered with gravestones, “I thought the Bogeyman was a tyrant, how could people _want_ to support him?”

“You forget he was in power for a long, long time. For some, his reign was all they knew, others, well, they preferred his methods of leadership.”

“So, this Cult of Kal, they’re connected to my dad’s kidnapping, why? Bogey’s gone.”

Bog sighed as he stepped over an open grave, “I can only assume it’s due to what you managed to achieve two years ago. The pieces are there, but they don’t make sense.”

“How so?”

“Well,” Bog said, “why two years? What is the significance of that timeframe, and why Halloween of all nights?”

“Perhaps they knew that everyone would be at the Goblin Ball?”

“That is a possibility I have considered.”

“But you’re not sold on the idea?”

“Now I know the Cult is involved, I’m not sure what to think anymore,” Bog stopped walking and took Marianne’s hands in his, “these are dangerous people Marianne, granted not as dangerous as Bogey was, but, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“These people took my father, I wouldn’t be worried about me, you should be more concerned for their safety once I find them.”

“Speaking of your magic, before we left, Dawn said that the cloth just exploded by your touch, is this true?”

“It was super weird, like I barely held it then, bam!”

“Do you not think that is strange, considering Dawn handled it many times?”

“I guess my magic must have set it off, but how would that explain the sigil?”

“Morgan had a penchant for visions, maybe this was your third eye helping out and giving us a clue?”

Marianne tentatively reached out and touched her forehead, the skin smooth beneath her cold fingers. She was about to tell him of the dreams, the shadowy figures and Lorelai’s office, but she talked herself out of it, Bog would only worry.

“What are we doing out here again?” she asked, changing the topic.

“The Cult used to come here to worship, annoying really, it was one of my favourite spots.”

“A graveyard was one of your favourite spots, a little edgy isn’t it?”

“I was not nervous about it, why should I be? Most of the residents of All Hallows are the living dead.”

“Bog that’s not what I… you know what, doesn’t matter.”

“When we have time, I’ll show you where I like to gaze and watch the stars.”

“I’d like that, so, where did these knuckleheads hang out?”

They passed gravestones smothered with ivy and statues with sorrowful expressions, until they found, perched along the row of trees that stretched for miles into the horizon, the edge of the cemetery, the woodland casting a shadow amongst the plinths.

A mausoleum of sorts loomed ahead, the sigil of Kal engraved ferociously into the wooden door.

“Spooky,” Marianne said, observing the door for any locks or keyholes, only to find nothing, “how do we get inside?”

“I’m afraid that’s where I’m thwarted, perhaps-”

“-you could try some hex removal?” Lorelai suggested, hitching her dress as she came over to them, her teal hair pinned back off her face.

Marianne frowned, “did you follow us?”

“Partially, I was looking for Bog when I was told he was here. Seems I came in the nick of time too, are we trying to get inside?”

“Think you can get us in?” Bog asked, studying the wooden panel with intensity.

“It shouldn’t be too much of hassle if you know what you’re doing.” Lorelai put her hand to the sigil, exhaled and closed her eyes. The words she mumbled were strange as if she was singing backwards. The sigil glowed red, like a fire just on the verge of going out. Lorelai frowned, the song becoming manic until finally, the wood splintered unable to take the heat from the enchantment, and fractured, wooden debris cascading down on the moss-covered stone slabs.

Lorelai pulled her arm away, rubbing the spot where her tattoo was, “see that was easy enough.”

Marianne peeked her head inside, the room was dark, shadows shrinking back from the moonlight that now poured in. The stone walls smelled old and damp, and spiders had merrily made this their home for a number of years. The structure seemed to only have the one room, though judging by the narrow staircase at the back, it likely led down into the catacombs beneath the town. In the room, there was only one feature – a stone table in the centre of the space, what lay on it, however, made Marianne cry out.

The body lay still, though the eyes remained tightly closed, the chest, thankfully, rose and fell in a steady motion.

Marianne rushed to her father’s side, shaking him gently to see if he would respond. His eyes flickered for a moment, his hand reaching out for hers, but he promptly fell back asleep, a snore escaping from the back of his throat.

***

“We can keep him in here,” Bog instructed, carrying Marianne’s father to the best of his ability. They had decided that when he wakes up, having him in Bog’s quiet home, would be much better than Plum’s. Explaining a ghost, goblin, a troll and two skeletons might cause his head to explode.

Marianne adored Bog’s home, it was humble, considering he was royalty. The only grand piece of furniture he owned was a large painting of his father, the oils depicting a slender man whose furious glare was softened by his smile.

“Here,” Bog offered, lowering the body onto a chaise longue, “this should do until he wakes.”

Kneeling by her father’s side, Marianne lifted his thin hair out of his eyes, “do you think they did anything to him?”

“There’s no way of knowing until he opens his eyes and starts talking.”

“We need to find them.”

“We will, and when we do, they will be punished,” Bog slowly ran a clawed hand through Marianne’s hair, she looked up at him, the anger in her eyes turning to tears. “Would you like some time alone with him?”

Marianne nodded and with a bow, Bog left. Lorelai had gone to fetch Dawn to tell her the good news, and soon Marianne’s sister would be bounding in here. Numbness crept into Marianne’s knees and she even though she shifted, she could not shake the uncomfortable feeling. It felt as if her skin was on fire, she wanted to scratch until it was raw, her insides ached as if something was tugging and pulling on them as if _something _wanted to get out.

The heat was getting unbearable, the flush rising to her face, her cheeks burning. She was about to call out to Bog when Marianne’s father called her name.

“Dad?” She said, shuffling to his side, her body reacting as if such an episode never occurred, “dad you alright?”

“Marianne…?” He groaned, sitting upright, his face pale and gaunt, “what… where am I?”

“We’re in Bog’s house, do you remember anything about what happened?”

“What… happened?”

“Yes, anything about the house… kitchen?”

He shook his head, “I can’t recall a thing.”

“Well, you’re safe, that’s the main thing.”

“Safe from what Marianne?” He tilted his head to the side, the neck bent at a weird angle, “is there something you’re _afraid _of?”

“No, well… nothing to worry about.”

“You can tell me, I’m your father.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue when the doorbell rang out, a chime that echoed throughout the house, filling every room with its melancholy chime. With the sound of a door opening, Dawn run to them, her blonde hair skewwhiff and cheeks wet with tears.

“Dad!” She cried, running over and squeezing him, her sniffs seeping into his clothes.

Marianne watched as her father looked over Dawn’s shoulder at her, his eyes glassy, the gaze somewhat distant, when Dawn released him, he simply fell back against the chaise longue without another word.

“I’ll let Bog know he’s awake,” Marianne said, gathering herself as she moved across the room, leaving Dawn to ramble.

She found Bog sitting at a long table with both elbows on its surface, fingers laced together in concentration.

“Dad’s awake.”

“Really?” He asked, the ferocity in his features soothing out.

“So soon?” Lorelai asked from the other end of the table, “I thought he would be knocked out for a while. Sorry,” she said, getting to her feet, “I came back with Dawn, I wondered it might be worth running some tests on your father, to see if he is unharmed.”

Marianne bit her bottom lip, “well… I don’t know, he looks a_ bit_ pale.”

“He has been lying in a mausoleum for goodness knows how long, those things get cold.” Bog pointed out.

“True but, I’m not convinced. The cult kidnapped him and what? Let him sleep? It doesn’t add up.”

The shuffling of Dawn’s feet brought their attention to the doorway, with arms wrapped around herself and eyes brimming with tears.

“Dawn…?”

“Something’s wrong with him, he won’t talk to me, won’t even look at me. It’s like he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Marianne soothed her sister, “of course he knows who you are, he’s probably just a bit confused.”

“All he did was keep asking for you, saying your name again and again. What if this cult… what if they…?” Dawn brought her hand to her mouth to contain her sob.

“Bog, why don’t you take Dawn outside? Some fresh, fog air might do the trick.” Lorelai suggested, “don’t worry, we’ll sort it out.”

Marianne watched them climb down the spiralling, stone steps and hurried to the other room, her father lying on his back, blank eyes staring at the ceiling.

“Dad?”

“Marianne, there you are… I’ve been waiting for you, who’s this?”

Lorelai stood beside Marianne, shaking her head.

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t look good Marianne; I know a strong hex when I see one. They’ve done something, to his soul.”

“His soul?”

“I- I don’t think there is much we can do.”

“What?” Marianne grabbed her, “you have to know something, you’re an expert.”

“I know of something, but… Bog wouldn’t approve.”

“I don’t care!” Marianne said, her voice slipping into a shout, the uncomfortable heat was back, it stung at her fingertips and burnt her toes. “Tell me please.”

“The sceptre.”

“But it’s at the library.”

“Was,” Lorelai said, extending her palm. A flood of purple mist seeped between her fingers and with a click, the sceptre was in her grasp, free from its wall mount. “A simple conjuring charm, handy no?”

She offered it for Marianne to take, but Marianne only shook her head.

“I can’t use it; I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You know your father better than anyone Marianne, all you have to do is clear your mind, aim the sceptre and your magic should do the rest.”

“But…”

“Marianne, the longer we debate the issue, the more time is wasted. Your father could be suffering, we need to _try_.”

“Ok… Ok, I’ll do it.” She took the sceptre; the weight heavier than she had anticipated. The wooden body surged with magic as Marianne gripped at its handle. She steadied herself, relaxing her shoulders and letting out a deep breath. Adrenaline coursed through her, but Marianne pushed the sensation of being sick to the back of her mind, she needed to clear her head, empty her thoughts. It had been so long since she had done so, could she even do it?

“Please work,” she whispered to herself, feeling the magic bubble and charge through her hands, finally released it. The sceptre shone, the amber in the chamber gleaming brilliantly before sending out bright light, colliding with her father who lay across the room. Marianne’s hand shook, taking a step forward before realising something.

The chamber had been empty before, in her vision and when she saw it in Lorelai’s office.

Now, it housed a chunk of amber and on closer inspection, the surface was cracked.

“Lorelai!” Marianne called, whirling around to face her, “where… where did you get this amber?”

But Lorelai ignored her, clapping her hands and laughing at something behind Marianne.

Shadows snaked and curled around her father’s body, seeping in and out of his skin. He sat up as if this in no way bothered him and dusted himself off. “Two down,” he said with a chipper tone, “one to go.”

A million possibilities were running through Marianne’s head, did it work? Maybe, but this… this wasn’t right. Her limbs felt weak and her head ached, she stumbled trying to keep herself upright.

“What do you mean one to go?” She called out; her voice thin.

“If you knew anything about soul magic, then you would be aware of a dark practice, a branch of necromancy, that involves three stages of soul repairment. One, a vessel, doesn’t need to be brilliant,” her father laughed, taking slow steps towards Marianne, “two, a marriage of the broken segments, fitting them all together. Finally, the last piece in the jigsaw, the last soul segment which has an annoying, yet hugely beneficial survival mechanic of attaching onto another living being.”

“Dad… dad, you’re scaring me.”

“Come now Marianne, you can’t be that dumb. I’ve spent two years inside your mind, and I know you are quite a capable girl.”

The voice. That distant, pestering voice that mocked her, called out to her in her sleep. That plagued her with nightmares night after night. It was him. He was back.

“I must say, I’m awfully fond of you and I think we’ll get along in what comes next.”

“What comes next?”

“This.” The bogeyman said, shadows darting out from the corners of the room, wrapping around Marianne’s ankles and pulling her to the ground with a hard smack. She fought back with what little energy she had, trying to pry off the thick tendrils that slowly suffocated her. She could hear shouts and bangs from the front door, but all her attention was on the smoke that fell from her father’s mouth before he collapsed to the floor in a heap. The fog filled her lungs, she coughed and spluttered, trying her hardest not to breathe it in. But no matter how she squirmed, her body grew numb, sensation and feeling gone in her limbs and face. Her eyes felt so heavy, she shouldn’t have used the sceptre, it weakened her and now… Dawn… Bog… Dad… she couldn’t even warn them… it was… too late.

“My lord?” Lorelai whispered.

Empty, black eyes looked back at the traitor witch. Finally, free from a dense fog, Marianne lifted her arm, feeling the magic surge through her veins, brimming and threatening to burst. This was better, much better than being stuck in the amber or trapped as broken soul shards for years. She rotated her hand, revelling in the ability to have a body.

It was a strange sensation, to be sharing souls, but Marianne was gone, hiding in the corners of her consciousness, cowering in fear. The new, all-powerful Marianne sat up, the shadows swanning around her, awaiting her command.

“It worked,” Marianne addressed her subject, her loyal follower grinning with twisted joy, “now, let’s go have some fun.”

***

Bog’s fists pounded against the wood, the skin across his knuckles breaking with each blow.

“Marianne?! Lorelai? Let us in!”

Dawn had run around the outside of the house to get a better look through a window, but her feet froze in the tufts of grass and deadly nightshade that sprouted up from the ground. “Bog!” She called out, “Bog! Get away from the door!”

The door flew at him, narrowly missing him by mere inches. It lay battered at the bottom of the steps, smoking as if burnt.

Both Dawn and Bog looked to the doorway, where Marianne took a single step out into the evening air. Her black eyes narrowed at Bog as she gestured with her wrist, sending the door slamming into him, knocking him back into Dawn.

“I could have sworn you used to be more agile, goblin.”

“How? How?!” Bog roared, on his feet tearing for Marianne, managing to get his hands on her arms, “Marianne?! I know you’re in there, this isn’t you!”

“Well, obviously.” Marianne sneered, wrapping shadows around Bog like a starving boa-constrictor, “I’m saddened you didn’t put up a fight, I really can’t believe how easy killing you will be.” Bog gasped for air as the shadows squeezed.

“Stop!” Dawn begged, throwing her hands out, white balls of light colliding against Marianne’s wall of flickering shadows.

“You’ll have your turn, be patient.”

Bog’s eyes rolled back as a tendril snaked around his neck, one more squeeze, a little gesture by Marianne’s hand and her title will be returned to her and chaos could commence.

Her hand didn’t move.

It _refused_ to move.

“What!” Marianne roared, “what is happening!?”

The teal-haired witch stared blankly at the paralysed hand, unable to offer up an answer. Marianne’s anger caused her to recall her shadows, instead, engulfing them both. When the shadows cleared, Marianne and Lorelai were gone.

Bog, who had been dropped to the floor, now sat up gasping for air. Dawn was by his side, supporting his back and helping him stand.

“He’s back, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What did he do to Marianne?”

“He must have possessed her…fused with her?” Bog stood to his full height, “How?!” He punched the side of the building, “How could I not see this coming! Lorelai played me for a fool, and now, now, Marianne is…”

“Excuse me? Oh, Dawn! Thank god,” A voice mumbled through the doorway, as Dawn’s father ventured outside, “Bog! You’re here too, wherever here might be, nice to see the costume is holding up.”

“Dad! What- what are you holding?”

“This old thing?” He said, gesturing to the staff, “found it next to me when I woke up, I thought it looked cool, fancy little stone at the top here, reminds me of your mother’s wedding ring…”

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Go right ahead,” he passed the sceptre to Bog, “mind, it’s a little heavy.”

For the first time in years, Bog held his family’s heirloom in his grasp. The wood felt dry at first as if the burst of magic it tasted was not as satisfying as it hoped. In Bog’s hands, he could feel the wood expand, swelling with his archaic magic.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is it exactly?” Dawn’s father asked, climbing down the steps, a hand to his hip for support.

“A surprise my good man, a surprise they won’t see coming.”

***

“He was in my grasp! Why couldn’t I kill him?!”

“You may not have complete control, my lord, there is still a chance Marianne Fae is fighting back.”

“Miss Ragnarök, when I whispered to you through the amber, you told me that all it would take was for Marianne to use the sceptre, now there are complications?” Shadows dripped off Marianne as she paced the cold cobbles that lined the interior of their surroundings. The catacombs had been the Bogeyman’s home for quite the number of years, and though their walls were damp, it was the perfect place to fester, for shadows to grow and lie in wait. “The sceptre… where is it?”

Marianne did not need to look over her shoulder to see the grimace that crept onto her accomplice’s face.

Lorelai bit her lip when she recalled the last place it was, lying on the ground in the home of the Goblin King. “It’s no issue my lord, a simple conjuring spell and it’ll be right with us.” Holding her palm out like before, a flood of purple mist fell to the floor, rolling by Marianne’s feet, which she sneered at in disgust. Lorelai clicked, a smile on her face, but nothing was in her hand, the smoke now evaporating in the gloom.

She clicked again, the smile dropping, turning into confusion, then horror.

“If you click one more time, it will be the last sound you ever make.”

Lorelai dropped her hand to her side, “it… it does not matter my lord, the sceptre is of no importance to us now.”

“Have you ever played cards, Miss Ragnarök?”

“A few times, though I only really use tarot.”

“When I used to rule, back when you could barely wield any useful magic, I enjoyed a card game, in that game, you kept your cards close to your chest, do you know why Miss Ragnarök?”

“So, the other players would not know your hand?”

“Precisely, it may not matter to _you _about the sceptre, but that was a card I had hoped to keep close to my chest.”

Lorelai let out a whimper as shadows crawled across her skin, pulling gently at her hair, trailing over her goosebumps.

“You are a talented witch, Miss Ragnarök, I’d hate to lose you. Gather the others, we go ahead with the plan, and soon, All Hallows _will _fall.”

***

“Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad.”

“Sunny,” Bog pleaded, “calm down.”

“Sorry, I just get a little nervous when the world is ending.”

“The world isn’t ending,” Griselda offered, “it’ll just be another war.”

Bog sighed, they were huddled inside Plum’s house, though for how long was up for debate. If Marianne retained any of her own knowledge, then Bogey could use that against them, he would know their weaknesses, know their hideouts and the worst problem of all, was that there was no way to stop him, without hurting Marianne.

“Perhaps I could offer up my two cent’s worth?” Spoke a voice from the doorway, “hello, I’m Dagda, Marianne and Dawn’s father.”

Bog looked to the room and back to Dagda, then once more at the room, the ghouls staring at him blankly. Why hadn’t Dawn kept him out of the way as planned?!

“Erm, Mr Fae, well… we’re… this is a-”

“It’s alright Bog,” Dawn offered, “he knows.”

“He _knows_?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Dagda said with a sad smile, “when Morgan learned that she wasn’t going to get any better, she told me everything. It’s funny really, she had pulled everything out, her journals, the clothes, anything she had to prove it, yet I believed her without needing proof. She never lied, so, why would she lie about being a witch? She told me some grand stories, about each of you, and mentioned that although the girls weren’t magic, there was always that chance. Then, two years ago I go away for business and when I come back, my girls are, changed. In good ways, and bad. The nightmares, the panic attacks and yet, newfound confidence. Then, low and behold, you, the infamous Goblin King, Morgan’s oldest friend, walks through my door as my daughter’s boyfriend.”

A surge of red glowed on Bog’s cheeks, “her… her what?”

“I know something bad has happened to my little girl,” Dagda continued, his shoulders slumped, “I can’t do much to help, I’m an accountant after all, but I’ll do whatever I can.”

Dawn hugged her father, her head resting below his chin. “We’ll save her dad.”

In the corner of the room, Thang turned to Stuff, whispering, “what’s a boyfriend?” to which Stuff responded with a swift slap.

“So,” Dagda said, stroking Dawn’s hair and straightening his back, “what is the plan? Can we like _whoosh _her free? Abracadabra-get-it-outta-her?”

“This is some powerful magic,” Griselda explained, “Marianne and Dawn come from a long lineage of witches who were extremely gifted. The Bogeyman was perhaps the only one to rival that power, and now, these two powerful forces are combined, though we should be thankful Marianne is only an adept, she hasn’t reached her true potential.”

Dawn frowned, “she hasn’t?”

Plum shook her head, “heavens no, when Morgan came into her own, she could do anything. When her eyes glowed, any spell could be cast, be it summoning objects out of thin air or fighting the greatest of foes. Marianne has only been practising the craft for two years, compared to the decades your mother had.”

“I don’t get it,” Dawn said, “why did he choose Marianne? If it was the Fae line he was after, why didn’t he take me?”

Bog interjected, “I have been thinking on this, trying to put the pieces together. I don’t think it was a choice he could make, but rather one he needed to make.”

The room stared back at him blankly.

“Well,” Bog continued, “we know the sceptre was used, and that Lorelai must have coaxed Marianne into using it,” He held the sceptre up, the cracked amber catching the candlelight, sending streaks of orange across the room, “this amber, must have been the one we trapped Bogey in all those years ago. When Marianne cracked it two years ago, it must have not destroyed him, but rather, shattered his soul. I presume the Cult of Kal got to work, getting his broken soul a vessel, you Mr Fae, and then just needed the final piece.”

“Marianne was the last piece?” Dawn said fist to her mouth as she trudged through the possibilities, “How? Wouldn’t she know if she had another soul inside her?”

Dagda paled, “I think she did sweetheart.”

“What?”

“Remember what I said about the nightmares? She’s been having them for around two years now, I don’t feel like it’s a coincidence.”

Dawn balled her small hands into fists, “right so, what is the plan? There is a plan right, can we like, tear the souls apart? Preform a reserve ritual?”

Plum gritted her see-through teeth, “only witches practice necromancy, and even then, the wisest ones dare not partake in it. It’s a dangerous dark art, Morgan disliked it greatly, she only used one spell, and that was to cast the Bogeyman into the amber.”

“Can’t we just do that again?”

“I’m afraid Dawn it is not that simple, the Cult has made it so whatever we decide, we face obstacles at every turn,” Bog gripped the sceptre tightly, “there seems to be only one way of doing this, and that is to face it head-on.”

“You’re going to fight Marianne?” Dawn fists turning white now, “we can’t fight her.”

“No, which is why I am going to try and reason with her.”

“That’s absurd, she nearly killed you last time!”

“But she couldn’t, and why is that? Because Marianne is still in there.”

“Well, I won’t let you do it alone.”

“I’m sorry Dawn, but you’ll have to.”

“No, I’m coming with you, she’s my sister.”

“I know, and that is exactly why I have to keep you and your father out of harm’s way.”

“What? Bog, no don’t be ridicu-” 

The words barely escaped Dawn’s lips before she realised what Bog was doing. Dawn reached out, trying to stop him, but the sceptre had already made contact with the floor, opening up a portal beneath their feet, and when the familiar, nauseating rush of falling caught up with them, they landed in a heap on the floor of Dawn’s bedroom, knocking the bowl of water she had used earlier.

“No!” Dawn screamed, slamming her fist down onto the floor and bursting into tears.

“Dawn…”

“She wouldn’t have left me!” Dawn wailed, “if it was me, Marianne would have fought for me no matter what! How could he send us back here! We can’t leave her, we just can’t.”

“And we won’t, but we mustn’t be angry at Bog, he loves her just as much as we do. Now, follow me, I may not be able to do magic, but I have a cunning plan!”

***

Darkness swirled around Bog as he stood alone on top of the fountain, waiting for Bogey, to taunt or strike.

He had spread the message to the residents, to remain inside and prepare for the worse. During the war, with his father and Morgan by his side, he had been hopeful, but now, with this cruel twist his greatest enemy had sprung on him, Bog was not sure of the outcome.

Robed figures stepped out from the dark corners of the town, from alleyways, doorways and entranceways, their cloaks trailing across the floor, hoods covering their faces. They surrounded him on all sides, but it wasn’t them that Bog waited for, he knew out there, in the mist and fog, was a possessed Marianne.

His grip tightened on the staff, the wood brimming under his touch. He was a fearless King, he ruled firm but fair, and he had never been afraid of what people named the Great Terror, but he was fearful for Marianne.

Muttering under his breath, his words for his ears alone, Bog pleaded to the stars, “please, let this work.”

“How many times have we fought?” Marianne’s voice trickled out of the shadows, as delicate as a spider’s thread, “Yet, I must say I have never seen you fight alone, do my eyes deceive me, or is the infamous Goblin King admitting defeat?”

Bog stood firm, “I want to speak to Marianne.”

As she stepped out into the moonlight, shadows whirled around her feet, snaking around her, curling in the short ruffles of her hair. They consumed her, and it was showing, her veins turning black, spreading across her skin like tattoos.

“I’m here, what do you want to say to me?”

“No, I want to speak with Marianne, not _you_. She’s in there, I know she is.”

“You seem rather optimistic for someone who is about to die.”

“She won’t let you do that though, will she? I bet it didn’t factor into your plan how stubborn like her mother she can be.”

If Bog let his nerves get the better of him, he would have missed the flicker of annoyance that hovered over her face, if only for a moment.

“If you know so much about her as you claim, then why was she so unhappy?” Marianne smiled, tilting her head so her black eyes reflected the moon that hung overhead. “Oh… you didn’t know? Or, perhaps you were too busy, too blind to notice?”

“Marianne has been stressed about-”

“Yes, yes. It’s all up here,” with a lacklustre gesture, she pointed to her head, “I’ve had to listen to it for two years, every thought, every worry. Do you know what Marianne worried about the most? Not work or money, no, no, no, it was her future, particularly, the one she _had _wanted with you.”

“If you are trying to get into my head, it will not work.”

“I’m afraid I can only do one possession at a time,” Marianne chuckled coldly, “but really Bog, when I first met Marianne, I could see the appeal. Now, for some bizarre reason, she thinks highly of you. Why then does she have these worries, these doubts? What have you done?”

“Enough of these games!” Bog roared, smacking the staff against the ground of the small platform he perched on, “If you won’t let me talk to her then-”

“You’ll what?” Marianne almost giggled, “fight me? _Finally._”

In a lunge, she was pouncing at him, shadows whirling around her, their magic frantic and wild like an untamed beast. Bog managed to bring the sceptre up just in time to avoid a swipe from Marianne, driving her back down onto the cobbled floor, his own feet wobbling to stay upright and balanced.

She pounced, again and again, changing her position each time, the crowd stirring below, their jeers and shouts egging her on.

To her, this was nothing more than a game.

“You are refusing to fight.” She called from below, circling the base of the fountain, mist trailing after her in dark, sticky strands.

“I will not fight Marianne.”

“Then you’ll perish.”

With each lunge, she took wider swings, her shadows threatening to cut each time they got close to Bog’s skin. One got lucky, slicing just sly of his lip, but enough to catch him off guard long enough for Marianne to ram into him, knocking him to the floor.

“You used to be so nimble, what happened?” She laughed, kicking him in the ribs. Shadows pooled around them, their touch like a hundred papercuts. “Say hello to your father for me, will you.”

A rock flew inches from Marianne’s face, she whirled around, shadows flared like hissing snakes.

“You leave him alone,” Griselda roared, “I won’t miss again.”

Dagda leaned towards her, “please don’t actually hit my daughter.”

“You!” Marianne seethed, whirling around to the crowd of hooded figures, “children of the darkness, now your time has come to show your allegiance,” Marianne narrowed her eyes until they were nothing more than dark slits, “kill them.”

“I may have to ground her after this,” Dagda said, grabbing ahold of Dawn, “come on, we have to get to them before she can harm Bog! Follow the plan!”

“But…” Dawn looked at the crowd, disheartened by how many faces she recognised.

“Go!” Sunny said, ready to fight, “you’re our only hope, Dawn.”

“I… Alright.” Dawn gripped her father’s arm and pulled him into the thick of it, hands tried to grab her, but she used her free hand to summon her orbs, the light ploughing people right in the chest, knocking them over like skittles. “Dad, get ready!”

Dawn clenched her fist and focused, feeling the magic prick at her fingertips, drawing her hand back, she threw everything she had at Marianne, the light sending her stumbling.

It provided enough time for Dagda to pull Bog to safety, and just enough for Dawn to grab the sceptre lying by her feet.

Marianne recovered quickly, shaking off the attack like it was nothing more than a mere nuisance, “Ah, yes, the younger sister. I remember you, trapping me in that amber. Shame you’ll die like the rest of them, Marianne was rather fond of you.”

Dawn ignored the threats as she pulled out a small, beaten book, the cover worn, and the pages smeared with ink. She held it with one hand, the sceptre in the other.

“Do you even know how to use that?” Marianne mocked, the shadows curling around Dawn’s ankles.

“If I were you,” Dawn said, her blue eyes meeting Marianne’s, “I wouldn’t be concerned about the sceptre.” She raised the book and began to read the scribbled words, written by her mother’s hand.

_“I’ll start at the beginning, with how it all began, _

_I’ll tell my tale to Dawn and Marianne._

_I’ll speak of adventures great and small, _

_Of creatures that would make your skin crawl._

_How a Goblin King with eyes so blue, _

_Is in fact, just like me and you,_

_I won’t tell of the wars I’ve seen,_

_Or of the terrors that will make you scream,_

_I’ll tell them of all the friends I miss,_

_That leaves a hole in my heart, like an abyss_

_And though you may think, it sounds tragic, _

_That’s part of the charm, to that All Hallow’s magic.”_

As if enchanted, Marianne listened to Dawn’s words, the darkness that surrounded her falling away.

“Marianne?” Dawn called, cradling the book close to her chest as she took a brave step forward.

“Was that… supposed to be a spell?” Lorelai jeered, her eyes cold and harsh as she hid behind the safety of her master. “A few words could never stop the great and powerful Bogeyman, you idiot.”

“Do not call her that.”

Everyone turned to Marianne, who stood frozen like a statue, the shadows lying at wait by her feet, unsure of how they should be acting.

With shaking hands, Lorelai reached out, “my lord?”

“And don’t call _me_ that!” Marianne shrieked, her eyes emitting a blast that had the ferocity of the scorching summer sun.

***

Marianne opened her eyes, her eyelids heavy and body weak.

She recognised this place, that familiar black void that had greeted her every night for the last couple of years. In front stood the Bogeyman how she remembered him, as Roland Kal. When she had first met him, she saw him as handsome, but now the golden hair looked a little too fake, the eyes a sickly green, instead of the inviting lagoon shade she had once known.

He didn’t look very happy to see her, and when she tried to move, she realised why. Her body was encased in black tendrils that grew upwards from the tar-like ground, yet those that had been covered her face had fallen away, shrinking back in fear.

Marianne was about to call out, her throat dry and sore, but in the distance, she heard a faint sound, and when straining to listen she could make out her sister’s voice.

_I’ll start at the beginning, with how it all began_

More tendrils fell away until Marianne could feel the freedom of movement in her hands and feet, she ignored Roland, knowing he was watching, plotting like he always had done. Only a few of the tendrils remained, but with ease Marianne pried them off, their sleek bodies leaving behind a residue as they sunk beneath the murky ground.

“You’ll never get rid of me, you know that right?” Roland said, his voice calm and collected, though his expression was anything but.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marianne told him, “I told you once that I am not afraid of you, and that still stands. I will fight you every day if I have to because you will not control me, I will control you.”

He shrunk back, his demeanour growing smaller and smaller. As Marianne stood over him, she could see him for what he really was – desperate. Frantic to cling onto any magic he could sink his claws into. He had tricked her twice, but on the third time, he wouldn’t be so lucky.

_was that… supposed to be a spell?_

“Lorelai,” Marianne whispered to herself, ignoring the cowering figure beneath her, she listened in on the voice, focusing on its words.

_A few words could never stop the great and powerful Bogeyman, you idiot_

Marianne clenched her fists, how dare Lorelai speak to her sister that way, “do not call her that,” she warned, teeth bared. She could feel heat surging through her, burning any remaining tendrils that had desperately tried to stay attached.

“It burns!” Roland wined in agony, crawling away from Marianne, shielding his face.

The anger burned as bright as her magic, threatening to spill out if only she let it. Marianne was done being used as a puppet, to hurt those she cared about, she was going to take charge, so when Lorelai called out to her, believing her master to still be in control, Marianne unleashed the raw magic inside her, her true potential.

***

“This… this wasn’t… what’s happening?!” Lorelai cried, falling backwards and trying desperately to crawl away from Marianne, her boots getting caught on her dress and hair. The cult had also stopped, staring at there so-called messiah.

“You misjudged my family,” Marianne said, “and you misjudged me.”

“My… what did _you_ do to him?” Lorelai spat.

“The same as I’ll do to you if you don’t hand yourself over, right now.”

Lorelai got to her feet, her legs shaking as she stood, “you don’t scare me.”

“Good,” Marianne said, holding out her palm, sparks dancing underneath the tips of her fingers, with a flick of her wrist, rope had tied itself around Lorelai’s hands and feet, the same with the rest of the cloaked figures, sending them all toppling over. “Fear is overrated anyway.”

“Marianne!” Dawn ran at her sister, arms outstretched, she crashed into Marianne with such force, it nearly knocked the elder Fae sibling off her feet. “You are yourself… right?”

“Yeah, I’m me.”

“That’s not convincing, you need to tell me something only Marianne would know.”

“Erm… alright, when you were twelve you dressed up as a frog mascot and filmed a dance-”

“No!” Dawn cried, shoving her hands over Marianne’s mouth, “that’s enough, you have proven yourself.”

Another set of arms wrapped around her, crushing her with a hug, “There’s my little girl!”

“Dad?!” Marianne spun to face him, “oh god, look, I can explain…”

“You don’t need to sweetheart,” he said, soothing her hair, “although, maybe we should have someone look at your eyes.”

“My eyes?” Marianne said, gently touching the surrounding area to see if there were any sudden deformities, even though she could see perfectly fine, “what’s wrong with my eyes?”

“They’re glowing,” Bog answered, clutching his side and wincing as he came over, “seems you have unlocked your true potential.”

***

It hadn’t taken long for the remaining residents of All Hallows to leave the safety of their houses, filling the square with their cheers and songs. The cult members, Lorelai included, were rounded up, ready for Bog’s sentencing.

Dawn, exhausted from the events that had unfolded, found a quiet spot to herself on the fountain, where passing ghouls whizzed past, too caught up in the festivities.

“May I join you?”

“Sunny… of course.”

He sat beside her, his hand inches from hers.

“I owe you an apology,” Dawn said, her voice catching in her throat, “I’ve been distant, and an awful friend. It’s just, when I kissed you at the ball two years ago, I- I didn’t know what was going to happen. I liked you, I mean, I still do and-”

“It’s okay Dawn, you don’t need to apologise.”

As tears rolled down her cheeks, Dawn wiped them away with the cuff of her jacket, “I do. I can understand if you didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

“I want to be friends,” Sunny whispered, his cold hands warming in hers. Dawn sniffed, but a smile replaced the emotional weight she had been carrying for so long.

***

Marianne was surprised she didn’t feel more exhausted as she perched on the edge of the fountain, looking down into the water, watching the light from her eyes fading, returning to their normal colour. Behind the tumbling water and central statue, she could make out her sister and Sunny, having a much needed and overdue chat. She was about to intervene when she heard soft cries, but her father stopped her.

“They need to talk between themselves, they’ll be fine.”

“But…?”

“Marianne, you’re already on thin ice for being possessed.”

“Dad you can’t be serious.”

He raised an eyebrow and overdramatically crossed his arms, “No, of course, I’m joking… unless?” Throwing his head back he laughed, wrapping his arm around Marianne, pulling her in for another hug. “I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew about All Hallow’s sooner.”

“Why didn’t you? I mean, growing up I understand, but when Bog walked through the door…”

“Normality. What if I was wrong? I only knew what Bog looked like from the stories, to see him in person is a completely different kettle of fish.”

Marianne lay her head on her father’s shoulder.

“You know,” he continued, “he was always my favourite one when your mother told the stories, and Morgan was right, he is much cooler in person.”

“He wants me to stay here, in All Hallows with him.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I… I think so.”

“You seem unsure?”

“It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Marianne, you’ll never know what you want. On the morning I married your mother, I was stuck in the toilet terrified, I knew I loved her, and I knew she loved me, but marriage? It just seemed so scary. I’m glad I did it though, it was the second greatest day of my life.”

Marianne sat up and faced him, “what was the first?”

“Joint first,” he corrected, “was when you and Dawn were born.” 

“Good answer,” she said, squeezing him and refusing to let go. Over her shoulder, Dagda spotted someone waiting.

“I think there is someone who wants to talk to you,” he said as he pulled away, “go on, talk to him.”

Bog stood with his hands clasped and head down, waiting for them to finish, his suit more battered and worn than ever, and the cuts he had received had thankfully stopped bleeding.

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

There was a momentary pause, then, both opened their mouths to start speaking, then apologised in unison, resulting in a smirk from Bog.

“We should talk,” he said, extending his hand to her, “but not here.”

A knot twisted in her stomach, but she took his hand, nonetheless, finding comfort in the familiar callouses that adorned his palm. He pulled her close to him, wrapping a slender arm across her waist before bending his knees and soaring upwards into the air, the wind rushing around him, as All Hallows lay below.

She looked back at the fountain, in amongst the crowd she could see her father conversing with Plum and Griselda, while Sunny and Dawn huddled together, amongst the celebratory chaos.

Bog and Marianne landed on graveyard soil, the odd leaf whirling up around them.

“Do you remember I told you this was one of my favourite spots?” He said, his hand in hers, as he made his way through a maze of headstones. “Well, not the graveyard itself, but rather a hill.”

Slipping under some low hanging branches, they finally came to a clearing and the sight made Marianne speechless. The moon hung pride of place in the night sky, surrounded by a legion of stars. In front was a hilltop unlike any Marianne had seen, it curled and turned in on itself, looking more like the tip of a witch’s hat than a hilltop.

“Come,” Bog whispered, eagerly pulling Marianne to its peak. The ground was thin, but the view was beautiful. All Hallows lay before them, and after that came a dense woodland that stretched to the horizon and beyond, illuminated by the ghostly sheen of the moon above.

Marianne turned, the awe still in her eyes, and saw Bog looking at her, a tender sadness in his gaze.

“What is it?”

“First of all, the Bogeyman, what became of him? Is he still a threat?”

Marianne shook her head, “I think, rather ironically, he’s scared of me.”

Bog tried to smile, but it wouldn’t hold.

“I take it,” Marianne said, the knot in her stomach intensifying, “that’s not the reason for you bringing us out here?”

“Bogey said some things, I know they were taunts, but I suspect there was an element of truth to them. I want you to be honest with me, and in return, I’ll be honest with you. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Has my proposition of you moving to All Hallows been weighing on your mind?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to live here?” Bog asked, “I understand if you did not-”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“For a while its all I could think about, it’s all anyone would talk about. The future, what we would do with our lives. Two years ago, before I knew magic existed, I think I may have got a comfortable job, figured things out eventually, but I learned about this world, about you. Being here, where I can be me and be with you, is more than enough. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Bog held her face in his hands and kissed her, she could feel his coarse fingers against her cheeks, and couldn’t help but smile, her magic sizzling with glee under her skin.

It was then Bog dropped on one knee, taking Marianne’s hands in his.

“Bog…?”

“I ask you to bestow upon me the title of boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Your father said that was what I was, I don’t understand the concept fully, but I presumed you would like to court for a little longer before marriage was considered.”

“I mean, yeah,” Marianne couldn’t help but smile, the grin spreading to her ears, “would you consider it?”

“Consider marriage? It is all my mother has been going on about for the last century, and you did bring it up on Halloween.”

“You avoided the question.”

“I do not need to answer it, you are aware that I would propose to you this moment if that is what you wish.”

“You would?”

“You have my word as King.”

For months Marianne had battled with her own personal demon, who tainted her thoughts and plagued her dreams, now she could choose her own decisions and live freely, without fear. She waited, the smile turning into a beaming grin, “are you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?” Bog frowned, then his eyes opened wide, “you would want me to?”

“Of course.”

“Then, Marianne Fae, daughter of Morgan and Dagda Fae, will you do me the honour of becoming my bride, the Goblin Queen?”

She whispered him her answer, and he scooped her up in his arms. Together they spun with joy on the hilltop, their silhouettes painted on the moon as the stars danced along with them in the endless sky.


End file.
